


holding down my feelings

by mm_nani



Category: Football RPF
Genre: City emoting, Club solidarity, Falling in Love with Manchester as the background, Friendship/Love, M/M, Slow Burn, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, lots of sappy emotions, some exaggerated City poverty for dramatic effect, very slow burn, you could even say doesn't really burn at all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 12:55:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12366249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mm_nani/pseuds/mm_nani
Summary: Phil knew that experiencing the sea with Brahim was like experiencing the sea for the first time, like discovering a love for the vastness of the water that a singular heart could only struggle to keep contained.orPhil spends fours years having a lot of feelings but does little about them.





	holding down my feelings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [myblueworld](https://archiveofourown.org/users/myblueworld/gifts).



> dear recipient, you deserve so much more than this tiny fic (because I love you so much?!?!?) but i hope you enjoy it anyway! it doesn't exactly fit your prompt with the senior team matchmaking for them but it has City's children in it. And everyone is very proud of them!!!
> 
> Thanks to my beta for everything, I could not have written this without my beta's knowledge and encouragement.
> 
> title from [should have known better](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lJJT00wqlOo) by Sufjan Stevens

_At thirteen years of age Phil Foden didn’t know that he was falling in love._

 

*

 

‘Hi, my name is Brahim Abdelkader Diaz and I’m from Málaga,’ when everyone stares back in confusion he clears his throat and adds, ‘in Spain.’

 

Coach makes the new recruit introduce himself as though in a classroom and then urges them all to make friends with him as though it’s a kindergarten classroom.

 

Some boys hide a snicker but they all say, ‘Hi Brahim,’ in unison before introducing themselves in a line.

 

When it’s Phil’s turn to quickly bite out his name he does a small wave and feels embarrassed at the attention grabbing introduction.

 

Brahim doesn’t seem to notice that Phil was the only one that waved, that greeted him differently. He smiles and waves back.

 

*

 

_Phil knew that the Diaz kid from Málaga, Spain makes a strange fluttering blossom in the pit of his stomach._

 

*

 

They’re not trying to be mean to the new recruit.

 

It’s not like school, they’ve all got football in common and no one is different.

 

But they’re supposed to be great now. Manchester City won the league the season before last and doesn’t seem to want to waver from the top four spot. They’re supposed to be _rich_ now.

 

And suddenly there’s an influx of flashy foreigners in their midst.

 

It’s hard to not feel some resentment when Phil’s been upgraded from cement sacks and old equipment on an open field that they drag in and out of the store room themselves and Brahim walks in, acting like the shiny gym and recreational facility is nothing special, is his right.

 

*

 

‘Hey lads.’ He says and then stops when a few curious eyes turn to look at him, most are still talking in their groups. They’re not trying to be mean but Phil doesn’t have the loudest voice and he’s generally quiet. But even that much attention feels too much, ‘have any of you seen my shower kit?’ He finishes lamely.

 

He had originally wanted to propose they head out for some chips and gravy together for team bonding. The gaffer tried earlier, but it was some dumb catching exercise where you close your eyes, turn around and fall back to trust that your teammates will catch you. That’s great and all, but he wants to know real things about Brahim, like whether he’s a curry or gravy man. You know, questions that matter, that forms lifelong alliances.

 

He does, however, find himself walking behind Brahim on their way back home. They walk the same way for a few minutes until Phil has to turn towards the station to catch the train back home.

 

It takes him three days but eventually, he manages to time their walk back together.

 

‘Hey.’ He says and a few seconds pass, ‘how’re you settling in?’

 

Brahim nods and says ‘good’, then he takes a deep breath, ‘I miss Spain.’

 

‘Ah,’ he replies because there’s nothing else, not a single thing Phil can think of that can help or console Brahim and then, ‘have you had chips and sauce yet?’

 

*

 

_Phil knew that Brahim’s accent makes his heart beat a mile a minute._

 

*

 

Brahim is talking about Málaga again. It’s usual now for Brahim to fill in the space between them on their walks back home. The sound of his voice is like musical notes against the background of a bustling Mancunian street. Phil has never thought about English and how it sounds, but the rough Mancunian he’s used to sounds like survival and Brahim’s is like a reprise. They don’t always understand each other but it never seems to matter.

 

Brahim has, per usual, taken the detour to the station to see Phil off. The first time he’d done it Phil had insisted he didn’t need to but Brahim had only shrugged and said, _‘I like talking to you’_ and Phil had spent an entire weekend thinking about it.

 

Brahim is finishing up a story about hanging out with his friends at the beach as they wait for Phil’s train and he looks so wistful, his eyes twinkling with the memory, that suddenly Phil wants to see Brahim looking at the water, feeling its breeze, the joy he’s only talked about, alive and pulsing across his body.

 

When he starts walking Brahim follows him, confused. He clicks his tongue when Phil doesn’t explain and follows Phil onto the bus, grumbling only slightly.

 

‘You’ll like it, I promise.’ Phil says and Brahim relents, continues his earlier story.

 

Phil hops off and they can smell the water even before they can see it, the breeze is cool and Phil is a little disappointed when Brahim raises an eyebrow at him and says, ‘the Salford Quays?’

 

‘You’ve come here before?’

 

Brahim laughs but then sobers up when Phil looks upset, ‘I love the water Phil, I came here my first day in Manchester, the scout brought me here before I signed the contract.’

 

Phil deflates and turns towards the bus stand, going back towards the station but Brahim stops him, ‘c’mon mate don’t be sad, it’s the first time I’ve come with someone else.’

 

They grab soft ice and sit by the water, if Phil looks closely, Brahim’s eyes twinkle with the reflection of the water. It’s something even if it’s not exactly from the joy of being close to the sea.

 

‘I don’t understand it.” Brahim says suddenly, pulling Phil out of his reverie, ‘is it bad I don’t hate them?’

 

Phil follows Brahim’s line of sight to Old Trafford. He wasn’t doing it consciously but he’d sat so that he wouldn’t have to look at it.

 

And Phil thinks, _‘of course you don’t’_ because Brahim goes to his appointments with the nutritionist, trainer and physio and isn’t somehow awed by how they’re three different people.

 

‘You will.’ Phil says confidently, ‘Manchester was all red, draped over us so hard that we didn’t even _appear_ purple.’ Phil looks back at the water, ‘but now it’s a little blue and our hearts beat to make it just that much bluer.’

 

Brahim looks at him like he doesn’t understand and Phil chalks it up to the thick accent.

 

He’ll get it eventually.

 

‘I’ll take you to Blackpool, there’s a real sea there.’ Phil changes the subject and Brahim swings his legs excitedly.

 

*

 

_Phil knew that experiencing the sea with Brahim was like experiencing the sea for the first time, like discovering a love for the vastness of the water that a singular heart could only struggle to keep contained._

 

*

 

Some of the boys make a trip out of watching a game at the Etihad. They all dream to play here some day. At least Phil does and he’s glad to see that Brahim is excited too. His heart races at seeing Sergio Aguero warming up before the game. Joe Hart is towering over David Silva and James Milner as they talk, ‘probably about tactics,’ Phil thinks excitedly.

 

‘Are you okay?’ Brahim asks and Phil releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

 

‘Yeah, yeah I am.’ When Brahim doesn’t stop looking concerned Phil lets some of the mania he’s feeling through, ‘this could be us, that could be us out there one day,’ he says in a rush and remembers suddenly that Brahim is from Málaga in Spain; that, maybe, playing at home in the Etihad isn’t the dream Brahim has been seeing since he was five.

 

‘You’re right. It could.’ Brahim says on the tail end of a sigh and squeezes his hand.

 

There are too many butterflies in Phil’s stomach.

 

*

 

When they line up for Brahim’s first home derby game at the academy stadium, Phil knows what’s awaiting them outside the tunnel.

 

But it’s the first time a deep shame claws at his insides, knowing that the away side is full and their own is speckled. He has to stop himself from apologizing to Brahim standing behind him. Holding in the catch in his throat he runs out, his heart sinking.

 

‘You lied to me.’ Brahim says from next to him once they’re all standing in a line out on the pitch. Phil looks towards where Brahim gestures with his chin, ‘Manchester seems to always have been a little blue.’

 

When Phil follows Brahim’s line of sight, he finds an older couple, the husband straightening out the wife’s Paul Lake jersey, both decked out on light blue all over.

 

At the end of the day, facing the fans that they have in the stands after a match fills his heart with a pride and responsibility so fierce that it doesn’t matter if there’s one of them or a hundred thousand.

 

Phil catches Brahim’s eyes water when a child is screaming his name, holding up a banner:

_Brahim you are my hero_

 

Maybe Brahim gets it more than Phil gives him credit for.

*

 

_Phil knew that too many times in the day he thinks, ‘do you like Manchester? Would you like to stay?’_

 

*

 

Brahim offers him a beer even though he’s still fifteen and a thrill of the forbidden goes through him even though they’re just in Brahim’s room playing Fifa.

 

He doesn’t need permission from his parents anymore to hang out with Brahim, he can just text his mom he’ll be late and she replies with, ‘Brahim’s again?’

 

If she knew Brahim was debauching him, maybe she wouldn’t be so casual about it. He doesn’t know where Brahim gets all his contraband alcohol from but he’s had a whole range of interesting Spanish wines and cocktails.

 

They never get drunk or rowdy because they’re both concerned about their stamina and health and avoiding run ins with the law but he can’t deny that Brahim makes sangria that would pass as just very delicious juice and he looks forward to drinking them occasionally.

 

He also looks forward to just this, spending time with Brahim, knowing his stories of Málaga so well that he can’t believe he wasn’t there to experience them himself.

 

‘You’ve told me that story already.’ Phil points out occasionally and Brahim apologizes and Phil has to backtrack, tell him to continue, ‘tell me again, it’s like i’ve met your entire family already.’

 

‘You can,’ Brahim responds, ‘you should meet them, they’ll love you.’ The prospect makes Phil nervous but it also feels inevitable. Brahim gets along with Phil’s mother very well, has come to Stockport many times already. It’s only natural that it would happen the other way too.

 

*

 

‘It’s my turn to show you something awesome about Manchester.’ Brahim says one weekend and they walk through the streets until they’ve reached the canal and the streets are uneven cobblestone.

 

‘Where are you taking me?’ Phil finally asks because Brahim is oddly quiet and they eventually reach a restaurant, ‘The Molly House.’

 

‘This is the best Spanish food I’ve had in Manchester!’ Brahim says and he sounds just a tad too cheerful. When they walk in, it’s infinitely clear that Brahim comes here often, the bartender hands him two beers without even asking for his order.

 

It looks like a pretty great restaurant with a decent pub but Phil still feels like he’s missing something. The food is great, two men walk in holding hands and Brahim’s cheeks are awash with a pink blush.

 

Phil looks around again and realizes that it’s not just those two men, everyone in the restaurant is either coupled with a person of the same gender or in groups that edge on the side of eccentric that one doesn’t see in your everyday pub, especially on a Tuesday night.

 

 _‘It’s a gay restaurant,’_ Phil thinks and that part should have been obvious because they’re near Canal Street, _The Gay Village._

 

‘I didn’t know about this place,’ Phil ends up saying because Brahim has been looking at him from beneath his lashes for the whole time, he’s clearly expected to say _something_ , ‘it really is awesome.’

 

Brahim laughs on the tail end of a long exhale, ‘yeah, yeah it is.’

 

*

_Phil knew that he was an English lad through and through, never even thought about leaving Stockport, but facing Brahim on the international stage on the other side in red, talking in a language Phil doesn’t understand, at home amongst people he doesn’t know makes him feel just a little bit out of place._

 

*

 

‘Fuck, mate.’

 

Phil isn’t sure who says it but it reflects how everyone was feeling either way. They’re all in stages of sadness or anger, fighting off tears that seem to pour out of their chest.

 

Jadon punches a wall, prompting Brahim to tend to his bleeding knuckles.

 

_they’re gonna make a documentary about us lads_

 

They wanted to be the generation to win a cup since ‘84, dismantling Chelsea in the process. Dreams piled over anticipation, over the sweet taste of almost glory.

 

The disappointment settles into his bones between the pieces of his dashed hopes. He looks at Brahim hunched over Jordan and a ripple of sudden desire goes through him, he wants Brahim to heal him too.

 

But doesn’t know how to explain a broken heart.

 

Brahim seems to understand anyway, holds him close to his body and lets him nestle his head into the crook of his neck.

 

Phil didn’t know a hug could be a bandage but with Brahim’s hand comfortingly carding through his hair, he learns.

 

*

 

_Pep wants you two._

 

Phil still gets a headrush when he thinks about it.

 

It’s all surreal, as everyone greets him warmly; Vincent Kompany, his childhood idol welcoming him as a colleague. Kun Aguero, a certified hero gives him a thumbs up, gestures kicking a ball and he can only blush under whatever compliment it’s supposed to be.

 

The only believable part or maybe it’s the least believable is that Brahim is with him, boarding a plane to the US, cheeks red as he converses with David Silva, trying his best not to reach out and touch him.

 

Youth teammates don’t stay together. Everyone gets seeded out, many want to be placed elsewhere. Phil realized that the way his heart squeezed every time Brahim talked about Spain was him dreading the moment that Brahim would leave, would go back home. He realized the deep sadness he’d been harboring at the impending separation only when it didn’t happen, only when Brahim took his hands and said, ‘ _we made it’_ gesturing out across to all their City teammates.

 

And they share this secret, this absolute unbridled joy, this bizarre reality that is suddenly theirs, giddy with the opportunity but holding it in because they’re cool, composed _seniors_ now.

 

They sit together on the plane, first class, seats soft and lush, collapses straight back like a bed. Kun looks at him, somehow cluing into his carefully held back excitement and says, ‘try to sleep, don’t just watch movies!’ and he nods back eagerly, grateful for every inconsequential football wisdom.

 

He can’t refuse when Kun asks him to be his roommate. He feels guilty until he realizes Silva asked Brahim and they’re both just following their heroes around, grateful for the acceptance, for fitting in, for the football tips and how invested everyone is in their success.

 

When Brahim starts _and scores_ Phil screams so loudly that his head throbs from it, from the intensity of those feelings. It’s not just Brahim, but his and all their teammates' and coaches' efforts at the academy coming into fruition. It’s not just him it’s the entire team, Raheem holding Brahim like he’s the most amazing thing he’s ever experienced, Pep jumping up in surprise, loud screaming in Spanish and English - an entire family working tirelessly for this one miracle.

 

A kid from Málaga.

 

A kid from Stockport

 

A platform where dreams are made.

 

Phil doesn’t want to disturb Brahim’s glory. Everyone wants to congratulate him, compliment him, recognize him before he really breaks out, becomes a star that no one could reach. But it’s Brahim who catches up to him, sits next to him on the bus.

 

Brahim threads their fingers together, when the bus starts moving and the lights dim and the excited chatter quiets down into murmurs.

 

He can smell Brahim’s cologne, his shower damp hair tickles against his neck where Brahim has laid his head against his shoulders.

 

‘I’m glad you’re here with me.’ Brahim whispers.

 

And there’s a thousand ways that Phil wants to respond. A thousand opportunities flash before him, the thousand times they’ve watched each other grow older, the thousand things that Brahim has made him feel swirl on the tip of Phil’s tongue.

 

Phil squeezes Brahim’s hand.

 

‘Me too.’

 

*

 

_At seventeen years of age Phil didn’t know he had fallen in love, but it's okay because Brahim didn’t either._

 

**Author's Note:**

> if you read and enjoyed it please leave me some love! Since its a new pairing, I'd really like to hear what you thought!


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